


Second Go Around

by kitsunesongs



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Brotherly Love, Bullying, Child Abuse, Coming of Age, F/M, M/M, Mentioned Child Neglect, Multi, Obsession, Possessiveness, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Underage - Freeform, improvised flamethrowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/pseuds/kitsunesongs
Summary: Turns out, taking the turtle god who created the universe to task can create some interesting opportunities, as Bill Denbrough discovers when he finds himself back in time on the fateful, rainy October day...





	1. Chapter 1

The world spun, and Bill blinked, once, twice. He was standing in his room, wearing his winter pyjamas and a robe over the top, holding a blocky walkie talkie in one hand. His head felt foggy and he could hear rain outside, drumming against the roof. His fingers twitched against the walkie talkie.

What?

He’d been…and there had been…a turtle?...Bill had shouted…he hadn’t stuttered at all…what was…?

Trembling faintly, Bill raised one hand to hold his head as sharp pain ran through it. Was he dreaming? He felt dreamy, and vague, and the rain kept washing his thoughts away…

It had been raining like this when Georgie disappeared. No. When Georgie died.

Dazedly, he looked back down at the walkie talkie. It was one of a pair that had not been used since October…almost without his thinking about it, Bill’s finger pressed the button to turn it on.

He wasn’t sure what to say…but if this were a dream…then Georgie would be on the other side of the walkie talkie. “G-Georgie?” he asked, whispering softly, throat dry.

There was silence for a long moment – and then, with a crackle, the walkie talkie answered, Georgie’s familiar bright voice coming through it.

“Hi Billy! You’re supposed to say ‘over’ silly! Over!”

Bill closed his eyes to stop the tears suddenly welling in them from spilling over.

Even if this was just a dream – and of course it was, what else could it be – to hear that familiar voice, so cheerful and happy…

This was a good dream.

He wanted it to last.

“S-Sorry, Georgie. I forgot. Over.”

“That’s okay!” Georgie chimed. “Billy…” he hesitated, before continuing, shame echoing through the patchy sound of the walkie talkie. “I lost her Billy – I lost the boat. She was too fast, and I wasn’t looking where I was going and I hit my head, and when I caught up she’d already gone down the drain!”

The boat.

That fucking boat.

The one not Georgie had been clutching in his remaining arm.

And distantly, a part of Bill is wondering if this is how it had happened in real life. If Georgie had followed the boat down into the sewers, and simply never came out.

“Ah, I didn’t say over!” The walkie talkie crackles into life again, and Bill finds himself laughing, even as he covers his eyes with one hand. He hopes this dream never ends.

“I-It’s okay. And forget the b-boat. I’ll make you a n-new one.”

“But I can get it back! There’s a clown down here named Pennywise, and he found it! Over.”

And like a rush of cool water, Bill is no longer foggy or confused. Everything sharpens into crystal clear clarity, and he turns on one sock clad heel and races from his room, detours briefly to the kitchen to grab something, and then rockets out the door while he raises the walkie talkie to his mouth.

“Don’t take anything he gives you Georgie.”

The rain soaks him immediately, but Bill doesn’t even notice it, or the pain as his feet, not protected well enough by just a pair of socks, get scrapped by the rough gravel of the road.

“Where are you. Over.”

He needn’t have asked, already heading for the corner of Jackson and Witcham, where the old lady who had been the last person to see Georgie had said she’d spotted him bending over and looking in the sewer drain before his disappearance.

Before his murder.

Bill is fast, and long legged, and does not give a fuck about anything but getting to his brother as quickly as he can, so it’s no time at all before he spots the familiar bright yellow rainslicker.

“Georgie!” he cries out, and skids next to him, kneeling, heedless of the rainwater soaking through his pants, and grabs his little brother, holding him close, edging away from the sewer opening and the hated, hateful white face he can barely make out hidden in its darkness.

Some part of Bill is singing, rejoicing at the feeling of his brother in his arms again, but the rest is clenching his fists and studiously keeping himself between Georgie and Pennywise, distantly noticing that Georgie was protesting that he was fine, and why was Bill being so weird?

“D-Don’t talk to strangers, Georgie! Especially weird people in the s-sewers!” he snapped.

“But my boat –“

“I’ll get the b-boat back, okay?” Bill soothed, struggling to control his fear – noticing, with anger and disgust, how Pennywise’s eyes had focused on him hungrily, now that bigger, more scared prey was here. Hopefully he could use that to get Georgie out of the way and safe.

“Y-You head home now, G-Georgie.” Bill said firmly, disregarding Georgie’s sulking, before he finally sighs and gives in with a pout.

“Fiiine.” Georgie whined, hopping to his feet. “You better get my boat back Billy! Bye Mr. Pennywise, see you later!”

“No, you won’t.” Bill snapped, one hand clenching inside his robe sleeve as Georgie started to head back home through the still pouring rain, before turning back to the monster still waiting patiently in the sewer opening.

It was just Bill and It now.

Its eyes were blue. It was a funny thought to have in the middle of this – dream? It doesn’t feel like a dream, he can feel the cold rain falling on him, the pooled-up water soaking into his pyjama pants where he kneels on the street before the sewer opening, but he still feels dazed and faded and foggy – but it was the one that caught his attention. Its eyes were blue, not the hungry gold or angry red-rimmed yellow, and its mouth hid buckteeth, not rows upon rows of sharp fangs. A predator hiding from its prey. Was that why it had given Georgie a name - introduced itself, made itself seems less a threat? It hadn't bothered to introduce itself to any of the Losers Club, after all. Is this disguise how it lured in its victims? 

Is this disguise how it had lured in Georgie?

“T-the boat, p-please.” Idly, Bill wondered how he was talking so calmly to the monster that had killed his brother – except it hadn’t, not yet, Georgie was alive, he was _alive,_ dream or no dream Billy had held his brother in his arms again _–_ so calmly. Maybe it was because he wasn’t afraid of it. He knew he should be, knew he was alone with a monster that ate children, but when he looked at Pennywise all he could see was the broken figure of the clown crawling on the floor, breaking apart, afraid of him and his friends.

“Oh…why don’t you take it?” Pennywise asked, drool dripping from his mouth, eyes fixed hungrily on Bill’s figure, raising the paper boat slightly so Bill could see it better, even in the darkness of the sewer.

Bill didn’t budge. “W-Why don’t you t-toss it up here?” he said evenly, holding his hand out – though still out of reach of the clown’s arms.

Georgie – or the figure of Georgie Pennywise had used against him – had had his arm ripped off, and the yellow raincoat had as well. Bill wasn’t putting his arms anywhere near those teeth.

If at all possible, Bill just wanted to get the boat and go home and figure out if this was a dream or not and hug his brother even if it was.

Pennywise cocked his head to the side with a jangle of bells, eyes still big and blue and almost innocent looking. “I don’t think I can.” he said.

“I c-can just make an-nother one.” Bill pointed out.

“But it won’t be this one, and Georgie will be upset.” Pennywise pouted up at him, disturbingly.

Bill kept his left hand extended out just above the sewer opening, while his right one fisted inside his robe sleeve. Pennywise was absolutely trying to lure him into reaching into the sewer opening, but the worst part was he was probably right - Georgie would be upset to have lost this boat, even if Bill made him a new one.

Right hand still clenched inside his sleeve, Bill reached down into the sewer drain, and grabbed for the boat – only to have it jerked slightly out of his reach by the clown. Bill grit his teeth, rage suddenly rushing through him.

Had the fucker done this to his brother too?

Suddenly, in the heat of anger, nothing seemed to matter, not the cold rain or Bill’s bloody feet or the fog still clouding his head. Bill reached down into the drain and grabbed the boat, and watched calmly as Pennywise disgarded his disguise, eyes once more a bright gold, as they rolled back in his socket and his suddenly sharp teeth extended and extended and extended as one clawed hand came up and grips Bill’s left arm sharply – and Bill was not the slightest bit afraid when his right hand stoped hiding in his robe sleeve and lashed out to bury a kitchen knife right in Pennywise’s face.

The monster froze, shocked and hurt, as a growl echoed from him and blood started flowing upward from the knife stuck in its face. Bill used the opportunity to yank his arm, still grasping the boat, from the clown’s grasp, and hurriedly got up and away from the sewer drain.

“T-thanks for the b-boat back.” He shot sarcastically down at the one shocked, angry and hungry eye looking at him, before running back to his house as fast as he could.


	2. Chapter 2

The fogginess and floaty feeling of earlier had come back by the time Bill stumbled victoriously home, bestowed the rescued boat to an ecstatic Georgie, and proceeded to be fussed over by his mother. It was…nice, being fussed over. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, to be scolded by his mom. She’d taken Georgie’s death badly, falling into a depression so deep she was almost catatonic most of the time.

By the time he’d been shuffled into a warm bath (with his mother there to make sure he didn’t fall asleep and drown), had some chicken soup spooned down his throat, and been tucked into his warm bed with a kiss on his brow and a warning that she would want an explanation about why he’d decided to run outside in his pyjamas while sick, Bill was convinced that this whole thing was a dream, but he was enjoying it so much he struggled to stay awake, not wanting the dream to end, and to have to wake up in his cold bed in his cold house with his cold parents and no more Georgie.

That night he dreamed of a turtle, old and gentle and with a soft blue green shell. They were talking, but Bill couldn’t quite make out what they were saying to each other, only the feelings that had gone through him as he swung from awed to infuriated. Bill felt the ache in his throat as he shouted, but couldn’t hear anything, and he woke up still straining to hear a single word.

For a moment, Bill just laid there and stared at the ceiling, not wanting to get up. The dream last night had been wonderful – or at least, the part before the turtle part had been. The image of Pennywise with a knife stabbed into its head made Bill huff out a laugh to himself. He wished it had gone like that. Wished he’d been able to save Georgie.

Feeling the sadness stealing over him like a grey cloak, Bill closed his eyes and buried his head deeper in his pillow, ignoring the creak of the door opening as one of his parents coming in to wake him up.

Probably his father –

“Billy! Wake up!” His bed bounced as a small cannonball hit it and Bill shot straight up in shock, staring wide eyed at the messy haired, gap toothed boy peering up at him from the covers. “Did I scare you?” Georgie giggled, and Bill had never heard a more wonderful sound.

It hadn’t been a dream. His brother was here, in front of him, alive, and it hadn’t been a dream he’d saved him he’d done it _Georgie –_

Bill lunged forward and swept Georgie up into a hug, ignoring the small ‘oof!’ his little brother let out, and burying his face in his shoulder as he clutched him tightly to his chest.

“Billy?” Georgie questioned, happily accepting the hug but sensing something was off. “Are you okay? Are you feeling worse?” he squirmed one arm out of his brother’s tight hold and raised it to press against Bill’s forehead like their mother did. “Mom said you might, cause you went out in the rain yesterday.”

Silently, Bill shook his head. “No…I feel g-good, Georgie. I f-feel really, really good.” He pulled back and beamed wetly down at his brother. For the first time in months, it was the truth.

~~

It was probably for the best that as far as his parents were concerned, he was still recovering from being sick, because it made his occasional daze and moments of confusion understandable.

Suddenly finding himself months back in time was not a situation Bill ever thought he’d be in, but he wasn’t questioning or complaining – instead, he was looking after Georgie, spending time with him, playing with him, hugging him and ruffling his hair – and every time he did so Georgie would beam up at him with that gap-toothed smile, and the empty, gaping hole in his chest started to heal.

The first night back, Bill insisted on Georgie sharing his room with him. They’d talked until the younger one had been yawning with every second and then settled down, cuddled together in the same bed, with Georgie nuzzled trustingly into Bill’s side. One arm had been around his brother – the other had been buried beneath his pillow, hand clutched around the hilt of another kitchen knife.

If Pennywise decided to come for the prey that had gotten away, Bill would be ready for him.

For a while, nothing happened, and Bill started to doze lightly, lulled by the darkness and the warmth and the soft breaths huffed gently into the crook of his neck, before there was a shuffle of movement outside his bedroom door, and he snapped awake with a start as it creaked open a crack, only to subside when he recognized the familiar silhouette of his father.

Still half asleep, Bill stayed where he was, head turned towards the door, wondering if his dad was going to come in and press a kiss to his forehead, as he had done before Georgie died.

“Dad?” he whispered sleepily, and the figure at the door paused, then entered the room, closing the door as it did so, blocking out the slight light from the hallway. With the room suddenly only illuminated by the faint light of the moon, shadows loomed, and the familiar was suddenly strange.

“It’s just me.” His father’s familiar voice whispered as the figure came closer, and Bill subsided and closed his eyes again, and snuggled deeper into the pillow as his father reached the side of the bed and reached down for Georgie. Bill clutched his brother closer stubbornly.

His father chuckled softly. “He needs to go back in his bed.”

But their parents had agreed to Georgie sleeping with Bill tonight…

His father reached out a hand, and in the shadows it seemed to lengthen, grow claws – Bill pulled the knife out from under the pillow and held it under his father’s chin.

For a moment, they froze like that, and Bill thought he’d made a terrible mistake, and was going to have to explain why he had felt it necessary to bring a knife to bed - but then the figure of his father let out a long growl, and his eyes flamed bright amber in the darkness.

“G-Go away.” Bill whispered, staring straight into those bright gold eyes. He was not afraid. “L-Leave my brother alone.”

There was a brief gleam of white, sharp teeth.

“You’re a strange one, Little Friend,” Pennywise said.

The monster sounded almost amused. It probably hadn’t experienced anyone like Bill before – it was intrigued, interested – not suspicious. Not afraid.

It was to arrogant to be afraid of a human child. That, Bill vowed, would be its downfall.

“You tried to b-bite my arm off.” Bill said flatly. “A-and I’m p-pretty sure you were gonna eat G-G-Georgie before I got th-there. I’m n-not your friend.”

The clown grinned wider as his eyes glowed brighter. “You could be.” The clown’s singsong voice was softer, suddenly, and its eyes were blue again.

Bill blinked, suddenly sleepy, knife wavering from where it was held under Pennywise’s chin. One gloved hand came up and gently pushed the knife down.

“I’d like you to be my friend, Billy.” Pennywise said, soft and smooth and rich like chocolate. “You and me and Georgie could all be friends…I’ll show you my circus.”

Bill noticed, distantly, that it was drooling again as it came closer.

“Can you smell the circus Bill?”

And he could. He could smell the buttered popcorn and the cotton candy and almost hear, distantly, the clattering sounds of the ferris wheel, the laughter of children…the singing of children…

“We can aaaall float together…” the white gloved hand was reaching for him…and for Georgie.

Almost without even realising what was happening, the hand holding the knife lifted and Bill stabbed it into Pennywise’s hand, snapping out of the strange…the strange _spell_ he’d been under. Pennywise growled again in pain, yanking his hand back, knife still impaled in it. The blue eyes were gone, and the teeth were sharp again – but he was eyeing Bill warily now.

“You are not touching my brother.” Bill said and didn’t stutter a bit.

Pennywise sneered. “You and your _knives…”_

“There’s m-more where that came from.” Bill bluffed. The clown tilted his head and looked at Bill for a long time – with both eyes, Bill noticed. “I’m n-not scared of you.”

“N-not s-scared.” Pennywise mocked. Bill grit his teeth and glared.

“Y-you’re just a b-bully.” He spat. “You can’t stand it when your prey f-fights _back.”_ Pennywise snarled.

They stayed there for a long moment, a frozen tableau, glaring at each other, blue eyes meeting hungry gold, Bill clutching his still sleeping brother close, Pennywise standing hunched over with his injured hand ignored as blood floated up from the wound.

There was a sharp popping sound from Bill’s side of the bed, and his head snapped around, spotting the remnants of a red balloon falling to the floor beside his bedside table.

When he turned back to where Pennywise had been standing, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Something new had happened._

_For the first time in forever, something new._

_Before the Turtle, silly old thing that it was, had vomited up the universe, it had just been It and the Turtle, in the empty dark nothingness of the Macroverse, the void between. It, in Its true form of the Deadlights, had drifted amongst the Macroverse, devouring anything in its path, consuming as the Turtle created._

_It had been very fond of Stars, and the warmth of the explosion they made as It had swallowed them whole._

_Then, the Turtle had thrown up the universe It was in now, and It had drifted there, though not as the Deadlights. The fabric of reality in the universe was fragile, and the presence of Its true grandeur and magnificence would have shredded it at the seams, and that would have been a shame, as the new Universe was full of wonderful things to eat, that did not exist in the Macroverse. Little specks, running around and breeding and becoming sentient. Little mouthfuls of imagination and belief and tasty, tasty fear._

_It had created a form of itself that the universe could withstand, and come here, to Earth, to the spot that would one day become Derry, and slept there for eons, waiting for the little specks to evolve enough that they would be good food._

_And they had._

_Derry was It’s feeding grounds now, Its haunt, It’s territory, and It looked on the town with favour from the Deadlights that were Its eyes. It had settled into a cycle of sleeping to dream and waking to eat and then sleeping again, feasting on the pain and misery of the town._

_And yet now…something new. Something inconceivable. Something… **interesting.**_

_It had woken, as it usually did, and hungered. It was always most hungry just after waking, and seen a lovely little snack running through the flooded streets, following a paper boat. Providence had sent the boat into It’s sewers, and It had immediately acted to lure Its prey in close enough to bite, saliva dribbling down Its chin at the child’s unease._

_It had been amusing, taking Its favoured form of Pennywise, and calming the child’s fears – not much, wouldn’t want to ruin the taste, but just enough to get him to reach down into the sewers…_

_And then the little blocky thing in the child’s bright yellow raincoat had made noise, and the child had immediately forgotten Pennywise’s presence, talking instead to the voice coming over the strange thing – the walkie talkie, Pennywise learned._

_It would almost have been insulting, if not for the fact that it had presented the opportunity for more food, and so he had waited, patiently, an ambush predator, for Georgie’s brother to come._

_And when he had…_

_That delicious fear. The frantic fear of the one he loved and wanted to protect going beyond his reach, being taken from him…_

_Pennywise had drooled, and even allowed the boy to send his brother away, sated at the thought of getting to eat that tasty, tasty fear._

_And then…the inconceivable._

_The knife._

**_Pain._ **

_For the first time ever, he had felt pain as the knife plunged into his head. The child had not been afraid then, had snatched his boat away and left triumphant, having **beaten** him – inconceivable. No one, especially not some jumped up **snack** , could beat the Deadlights._

_Fuming, it had let go of its favoured form and roared down into its lair in the sewers, basking in its trophies, each a precious reminder of a meal, until it had calmed down enough to return to Pennywise’s shape, resolved._

_It could not be borne. It could not be allowed. The boy would be punished for his hubris – he would lose that which he held most dear, and Pennywise would get his meal. Maybe he would make the boy watch, before making him float._

_He had gone to the boy’s house, creeped gently into his bedroom, thrilling at the idea of the boy’s anguish when he woke to find that his little brother had been stolen from his very arms, only to find the boy awake._

_And able to see through its illusion and recognise that he was not his father_

_And with yet another kitchen knife._

_Pennywise had actually been almost amused this time. The boy was a special one – he would definitely make him float. Maybe he wouldn’t even eat him, but instead show him his Deadlights. He was sure that the boy was strong enough to survive the experience, though it would break his mind._

_Yes, as he wove a spell with soft words and illusions and watched little Billy’s eyes waver and hand fall, he affirmed his decision and rejoiced in his victory. He would make little Georgie float, and show Billy Boy his Deadlights, and then –_

**_Pain!_ **

**_AGAIN!_ **

_But – no fear. The first time, the pain had been a new sensation, and he had feared, despite himself, but now – he had healed from the first knife. He would heal from this._

_Without the fear, Pennywise’s head was clearer, and he felt...amused. Yes, he was amused by Billy boy, and his attempts to protect his brother and himself. Billy was different from the rest of the cattle of Derry – a sheepdog, instead of a sheep._

_But Pennywise was the wolf._

_He left, but not fuming this time. He would feed, and heal, and then – then it was time for a new game. He felt almost excited. This was the first time in centuries that things had changed, but it was a good change, a fun one._

_Painted red lips spread out in a wild smile that no one saw._

_Yes - Bill Denbrough was very fun._

_Pennywise would play with him more, until he wasn’t fun or intriguing or interesting anymore, and then he would make him float._

_~~_

Despite his encounter with It, Bill slept the night through, waking only once to scribble something furiously on a scrap of paper on his bedside table already half covered in sketches, before falling back asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, vague memories of his dream had already fled, and all that was left was the scribbled word “Chüd” that he could not remember writing, and a faint impression of something very big and very old and very kind.

All memories of dreams were quickly pushed away, because his mother had deemed him well enough to go back to school. There was no time for thoughts of giant turtles when he was consumed by the familiar routine of the morning – and yet it wasn’t familiar, not anymore.

The days when he had clattered down the stairs, racing Georgie, to eat breakfast and get ready for school in a warm, bright house where his mother played the piano and his father laughed and read the newspaper at the table were gone, and yet they were back. Georgie was happy enough to deal with Bill’s fussing, especially as it meant he got to use the bathroom first.

The joy warming Bill form the inside dimmed slightly halfway through breakfast. Halfway through a stack of pancakes smothered in syrup, he tuned in to the tv that was set in the corner of the kitchen, where his mother was watching the news. The reporter was talking about a missing child. Bill slowly stopped chewing and swallowed heavily, pancake suddenly resting like bricks in his stomach.

The child was Matthew Clements, age three, and he had been peddling on his tricycle when his mother went in to put the wash on – she’d come out to find the tricycle overturned, wheels still spinning lazily, and Matthew nowhere to be found.

Dread filling him, Bill looked down at his half-eaten pancakes, and pushed them over for Georgie to finish.

“Really?” Georgie asked excitedly, already curling an arm around the plate protectively. Bill huffed out a laugh and felt a bit lighter.

“R-really.” He replied.

His mom looked over at him, slightly concerned, but accepted his explanation of ‘just not hungry’ with little fuss.

Having her be concerned about his eating habits at all was odd. For the past few months, he’d pretty much taken care of feeding himself, because neither of his parents could be bothered. He hadn’t been very good at it.

Snagging his jacket and slipping into his sneakers, Bill headed out the door, hugging Georgie one last time. He’d be riding to school, while their dad was taking Georgie, and a part of Bill was relieved to know that Georgie wouldn’t be alone - wouldn’t be vulnerable.

“Remember,” he said quietly, relishing the feel of the small body in his arms. “If you s-see anyone or anything strange, you run in the other direction no matter w-what it is. Especially if you see that clown from the s-sewers again.”

Georgie nodded, burrowing his face in Bill’s shoulder. “I didn’t like him very much. He was creepy, even if he does like popcorn.”

“V-Very creepy.” Bill agreed, and let his brother go.

He watched the car drive off, before clambering onto his huge Schwinn bike, Silver, and started on his own journey to school.

He started to peddle, and the bike cards started to clack. “Hi-yo, Silver, away!”

~~

Walking back into the familiar halls of school was another shock. His bag was full of textbooks he’d emptied into the trash only a few months ago, there was no ever-present reminder of the curfew because there was no curfew (not _yet_ muttered a small voice in his head) and as he headed towards the three familiar figures of his friends, he saw with a jolt that the girl he’d just passed by was Betty Ripsom.

His hands clenched tighter around the straps of his backpack as his head swum.

“You okay there, Bill?” came a familiar voice. “You look like you’re gonna be sick – if you are, do it on Eddie.”

Richie.

He looked over at them, taking in the familiar loud shirt, messy hair and thick glasses of his friend even as Eddie reacted strongly to the idea of being puked on.

Bill smiled at him, warmth filling him. Richie was a good friend – the best. He was more then people saw when they looked at him. The last time he’d seen Richie, it had been when the boy had picked up a baseball bat and hit Pennywise for him. That took a very special kind of person.

Bill was proud to be his friend.

“I-I’m okay. It’s good to see you again.”

Richie looked kind of taken aback for a moment, cheeks turning slightly pink, before he recovered himself with typical Richie Tozier quickness. “Aww, you missed us! Hear that Eds, he missed us while he was away in his sickroom, eating Jello and reading comics and getting to avoid school!”

Eddie scowled at Richie and shot a quick look at Bill – probably to make sure he wasn’t contagious any more. “Don’t call me Eds!”

Bill couldn’t help but smile as the two started to bicker, looking over at the last fourth of their quartet. Stan sent a small, wry smile back at him, and Bill couldn’t help but notice how clear his eyes were, and the lack of bloody wounds around the edges of his face. Stan had been the one affected worst by Its mind games – Bill could still remember the horrifying sight of the twisted lady bent over his friend’s prone body, the image of her teeth seared into his brain.

Bill pulled Stan into a hug, surprising the Jewish boy, though he readily hugged back.

“Is something wrong?” Stan asked.

Bill shook his head and let go as Richie and Eddie stopped arguing. “I just missed you, is all. I’m g-glad you’re here.” Stan looked very pleased, until Richie came and jumped on them.

“Group hug!” Richie shouted, and Bill laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

If Bill had thought that having already gone through these classes would help him with them, he’d forgotten one major fact – at the time, he’d been reeling from Georgie’s disappearance (death) and had in fact spent most of the school year either in a dissociative daze, or frantically searching for his brother.

In other words, he couldn’t actually remember any of the work they’d done, and with Georgie not having disappeared, the teachers wouldn’t be as lax on him as they had been last time.

The reminder of Georgie was enough to brighten his mood even as he stared blankly down at his textbook, and he managed to do pretty well for his first day back – and if he thought of it like that, as if he’d just come back from an illness rather then the future, it was easier to deal with.

The day passed quickly, and Bill settled back into the rhythm of school and friends and avoiding bullies, until finally he was in his last class of the day, Social Studies. The teacher was late.

“If he’s not here in 15 minutes we’re legally allowed to leave.” Stan said. Stan was sitting on Bill’s right side, and Eddie on his left, with Richie next to Eddie. Bill hummed in response, but didn’t say anything, getting out his notebook and turning to a blank page instead.

Seeing Betty Ripsom had been a shock, and seeing Patrick Hockstetter lurking in the halls had been a bigger one, so he’d decided to write down all the names of the missing kids, and the dates they’d gone missing, to see if he could save them, and was running into a problem – he couldn’t remember.

He frowned down at the frustratingly blank page and began doodling in the corner.

Hockstetter, he was pretty sure, had gone missing on the first day of summer break, and Eddie Corcoran sometime in July, because he’d seen the missing poster at the July 4th parade, but he hadn’t really been paying attention to the exact time and dates of when kids went missing - and even if he had, he wouldn't have known _where._

The doodle slowly turned into a very familiar clown, and Bill frowned and added a little version of himself in front of it.

And even if he had, like with Georgie, and managed to save those kids – Matthew Clements chubby face danced in his mind. He would never grow out of that puppy fat, his hair would never darken from the bright white blonde, he’d never grow into his big eyes…he’d be frozen in time, forever. A victim of It.

Because Bill had saved Georgie.

Little Bill was threatening the clown figure, with a knife - no, Bill grinned, changing his doodle. With a _lightsaber._ The clown couldn’t get past little bill to the small figure in the raincoat hiding behind him.

Even if he did save Its victims, It would just get more – the whole town was It’s feeding ground, and Bill couldn’t patrol a whole town, especially not during school hours.

Part of Bill wanted to just go after Pennywise now, by himself, but…Bill had stabbed it. Twice. Once in the _face_ – and all it had done was irritate and amuse Pennywise. Last time, it had taken all seven of them to beat – perhaps, Bill mused, because they weren’t all scared of the same thing, so it had had to keep shapeshifting, and whenever one of them was confronted with their greatest fear, someone else could move in and defend them – or perhaps it was just that they’d overcome their fears, and so left Pennywise with no power over them.

Either way, it had taken all seven of them, and while Bill would love to spare his friends the fear and trauma, he also didn’t want to take away their chances to realise how brave they were, their chance to face and overcome their worst fears.

He would do his best to make sure they weren’t hurt as bad though – Eddie’s arm, Ben’s stomach, Stan’s face, Bev fighting her father and being taken and made to float – he would save them from that, like he’d saved Georgie.

Yes, he decided, nodding to himself, he’d get them all together again and they’d face Pennywise again, and they’d beat him again. But when? Every day he delayed was a day Pennywise could kill another child, but if they went after him to soon it would just be the fiasco at the Neibolt Street house again.

And they’d need weapons. More knives. Knives for everyone. Two for Bev, because she was badass. And Mike’s bolt gun. And pipes and chains and anything else they could get their hands on. Like a bomb. He paused for a moment, and happily imagined the look on Pennywise’s face if they forced a bomb down his throat. Or used one on that sickening tower full of kids belongings (including Georgie’s raincoat but no he was fine he was safe he was at school – Bill fought down the urge to go running out of the class and over to the primary school just to be certain.)

It had only gotten really bad last time around the summer, so he could probably afford to wait a bit, but –

Bill was torn out of his thoughts as the teacher bustled in, make Richie groan. Eddie reached across and slapped Richie on the shoulder, glaring at him. Bill looked down at his previously empty page, and the doodles covering it, and turned to a fresh one.

“Now,” the teacher said, sitting behind his desk, “We will be starting our group projects that I mentioned last week. You’ll be working in groups of three…”

Bill tuned him out and looked over at his friends, who were taking the news badly. Richie and Eddie had started to bicker quietly, and Stanley was looking over at Bill as though waiting for him to figure something out.

He didn’t remember this project – he must have been excused last time around. As it was…

With four of them, someone would be left out.

Bill looked around, eyes skipping over his friend, and coming to rest on the overweight form of a boy with blonde-brown hair who was looking down at his table, sitting slumped and trying to ignore ignoring the commotion going on around him as student moved around and leaned over and desperately tried to make sure they would be with their friends – or at least, someone who would do most of the work – and made a decision.

“Y-You guys make a group.” he said, pushing his chair back with a sharp squeal of chair legs against linoleum, and grabbing his books.

“Hey, no!” Eddie immediately protested. “You shouldn’t be left out, it’s not your fault you were sick!” Bill looked over at him and smiled. Eddie may seem like a tiny, fragile, delicate hypochondriac, and Mrs Kaspbrak certainly saw him as one, but Bill had seen him get covered with who knew what vomited up by IT, and simply shout and kick him in the face. Eddie was fierce and strong and brave, and Bill knew that eventually he would realise that himself.

“I-It’s fine.” He said. “I kn-now who I’m gonna work with.” And with that, he headed over to the round, lonely form of Ben Hanscom.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment Mr Anderson had announced the group project, Ben had sunk in his seat, head down and staring fixedly at his worn desk. Someone had carved their name into the cheap wooden top, and he’d traced the worn letters that spelled out KATIE as his heart had sank into the depths of his stomach. Ben knew how this was going to go.

He was the new kid – worse, the _fat_ new kid. No one was going to want to work with him.

Someone cleared their throat from beside him, but Ben was too buried in his misery to notice.

“H-Hello?” a hand touched his shoulder, and Ben jumped, eyes wide as he came back to himself with a start. The owner of the hand jumped too, pulling it back like he’d burned it, and stared at Ben with wide blue eyes. Ben flushed and smiled nervously.

He recognised the boy standing before him – Bill Denbrough, called ‘Stuttering Bill’ by pretty much everyone, was staring at Ben with wide blue eyes set in a pale face. The afternoon sunlight gleaming through the classroom windows set off sparks of copper red in his hair, turning it auburn.

“Uh…” Ben hesitated, and Bill smiled at him.

“I w-was wondering if you’d b-be okay with being in my group?” Bill asked softly. Bill always spoke softly, Ben had noticed, especially when he was called upon in class.

“You want to work with me?” Ben asked, pointing at himself as if Bill had mistaken him for someone else, half expecting him to nod and say ‘oops, my mistake’ and move on to someone behind him.

That didn’t happen.

Bill nodded firmly, still smiling, though he seemed somewhat nervous now. “I-If you’re ok-kay with i-i-it.” His stutter had gotten worse.

Ben immediately shoved his books and pencil case to the side, clearing space for Bill at the table, even moving his chair slightly to the side with a screech of chair legs on linoleum that made them both wince.

Bill beamed at Ben and settled his bag on the table, quickly snagging an empty chair and sitting down beside Ben as he pushed a lock of auburn hair behind his ear.

Ben sat frozen, tongue like lead, and had no idea what to say as Bill turned and smiled at him again.

“I’m Bill, by the way.” He said, and Ben distantly noticed that he’d done it without stuttering at all.

“I’m –” the new kid, he was about to say.

“Ben, Ben Hanscom, right?” Bill interrupted, still smiling, and Ben couldn’t help smiling back, joy filling him like golden bubbles.

“Yeah – I’m surprised you knew it. Everyone just calls me ‘new kid.’” He tried not to let the bitterness show but was pretty sure he failed.

Bill shot him a commiserating look. “Th-they all call me ‘S-stuttering Bill’. I know they don’t mean it badly – well, most of them – but it’s still k-kinda p-painful.” Ben smiled at Bill, blushing, and resolved never to even think of Bill as ‘Stuttering Bill’ ever again.

“N-Now Richie on the other hand,” Bill continued, voice lighter as he gestured behind him where Ben could see his three friends staring after them. Ben felt vaguely like a gazelle in front of a lion. “He loves the name ‘trashmouth’.”

Bill smiled at Ben, before following his gaze and frowning disapprovingly at the other three, who immediately looked away and began busily shuffling papers and opening books.

Bill nodded to himself and turned back to Ben. “D-Don’t mind th-them.”

Ben kind of got the feeling that _they_ minded _him_ but followed Bill’s lead and turned his back on them again, back of his neck itching all the while. He strongly suspected that if he turned around, he’d see Bill’s three friends had stopped ‘working’ and gone back to staring at them but busied himself paying attention to the project details the teacher was writing on the blackboard. As he did so, he noticed one big problem.

“Uh, Bill?”

“Yes B-Ben?” Bill smiled at him, and for a moment Ben forgot what he was going to say. For some reason, his face felt hot.

“We need a third person.” Ben finally managed to get out, a sinking sensation in his stomach. Bill just kept smiling at him, but it shifted slightly, from comforting to confident, and his eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment. Ben lost his train of thought again.

“D-Don’t worry ab-bout it.” Bill said confidently, before looking around for a moment. Seeming to find what he’d been searching for, he got up from the chair, and raised his hand and voice to be heard over the noise of the classroom.

“Hey, B-Beverly!” he shouted. “Want to work w-with us?”

Ben peered around Bill’s figure to see who he was talking too, and immediately blushed bright red. He’d only come to school this year and had had a hard time remembering people’s names and faces – but he couldn’t possibly have forgotten this girl. He’d spent several social studies classes silently gazing at the back of her head after all, enraptured by the bright copper/auburn mass of her hair.

Beverly Marsh turned at the sound of her name, bright blue eyes widening slightly as she saw who was calling her, before looking around at the gossiping children around her, and seemingly making a decision. She stood up from her table and swept her school things into her arms as she headed over towards the tow of them. Ben, panicking, quickly dragged another chair over, which she graciously slumped down on with a thud, blowing a single fiery strand out of her freckled, beautiful face as she did so.

Bill smiled at her, the turned to include Ben in his smile, and Ben got, if possible, even more red, and sunk down in his chair silently.

This was going to be a long social studies class.


	6. Chapter 6

As the bell rang and dozens of students started packing up, Bill beamed across at his two new/old friends. He thought that had gone quite well.

Ben had been quiet and red faced at first, but Bill had expected that when he’d called Beverly over – his crush had always been kind of obvious. Bill couldn’t really fault him for it though. Beverly was awesome, and smart and kind and beautiful, and Bill had had a bit of a crush on her himself – but when he’d run into that room underground, and seen her floating there, and then seen Georgie…he’d left her there. He’d been intending to come back, but he’d still left her there - and when he’d come back, Ben had been the one to get her down, and bring her back from wherever Pennywise had sent her.

Bill didn’t have a right to try to date Beverly, not after that. And besides, he was fine being her friend – Beverly was an awesome friend. So was Ben.

So were Eddie, Richie, and Stan, who had rushed over to Bill’s table the moment the bell had rung, and were currently crowding around them, stopping them from getting up and going outside. It was a bit silly, but also kind of sweet how protective they were. Bill knew it was just because Ben and Bev were new and without the attack on Ben by Bowers and his gang or Beverly’s help in the pharmacy to bring them together, but he was sure they’d end up close friends soon enough.

Now all he needed was Mike, and the whole gang would be back together.

Beverly was bristling, and Ben was shrinking down in his seat as Bill’s three friends proceeded to interrogate them, Richie leaning over the back of Bev’s chair and tapping on the top with jerky fingers, and Eddie hovering by Ben’s, while Stan loomed menacingly over them both.

“You know,” Bev snarked, leaning back in her chair and glaring right back at Stan, “that whole thing you’re trying to do would work better if you were a little taller.”

Stan’s eyes and lips narrowed, and Richie guffawed. “She’s got you there, Stan the man!”

Stan changed his glare seamlessly from Bev to Richie. “Don’t call me that.”

“Stanley the Manley?”

Bev snorted. “Noodlehead works better.”

Ben was glancing from Stan to the identically grinning Richie and Beverly, head moving back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. Bill smiled watching them. Stan couldn’t have set it up to make Richie like Bev better if he had been trying. Richie, meanwhile, had seemingly completely forgotten his reason for coming over there, and had instead started his favourite pastime of teasing Stanley Uris, now with some added help from Bev Marsh.

Bill would have been worried, but he knew Stan could take care of himself, and in fact he’d already raised an eyebrow and said something cutting.

Gathering his books and swinging his bag on his back, Bill turned towards Eddie and Ben, grabbing each of them by a hand.

“C-come on,” he said. “Let’s leave them t-to it.”

Eddie shook his head as he allowed himself to be dragged along. “That idiot.” he muttered, in the fond yet annoyed tone he only ever used when Richie was the subject. “He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached.”

Eddie turned considering eyes to Ben, who was looking down at where Bill was grasping his hand with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. For a moment, Bill wondered if he’d over stepped, reminding himself that even if he knew Ben well, Ben had only just met him today – but that fear was shaken away when Ben clutched Bill’s hand tighter, a small smile growing on his round face.

Eddie nodded to himself, seeming to come to a decision, and smiled at Ben. “I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, by the way. The idiot with the glasses is Richie Tozier, and the noodlehead is Stan Uris – he’s a jew, which means he’s very organized and says ‘Oi’ a lot.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ben smiled shyly at Eddie. “I’m Ben Hanscom.”

“You’re the –” the new kid, he was about to say.

Bill shot him a look.

Eddie, thankfully, immediately got it, and changed tune without blinking.

“– the one Bowers and his gang likes to pick on, right?”

They turned a corner, and someone pulled Ben back by the handle of his backpack, breaking Bill’s grip.

Speak of the devil.

“B-Bowers.” Bill addressed the bully, frowning, as Eddie shrunk behind him. Henry Bowers, the boogeyman of the school, the nightmare of childhood – before Bill had encountered the real boogeyman.

Bowers looked the same as always, ratty sweatshirt and mean glare and dirty mullet – but looking at him, Bill had a sudden sense memory of the last time he’d seen that face, blood-spattered and crazed with a sharp grin and wild eyes as he peered down from the top of the well.

Bowers had always been bad, always been mean, and always been far too free with his fists – but that summer, things had gone way farther then they ever had, from trying to carve up Ben’s stomach, to trying to kill Mike and Bill and the rest of the losers club. And all that blood…Bill thought that maybe Mike had not been the first person Bowers had tried to kill.

(A small part of Bill thinks that maybe _tried_ is not the right word, but that thought is too scary, so it fades away quickly.)

Still…looking at him now, Bill couldn’t see any hint of the maddened creature that he’d spotted peering down the well, and he had a terrible feeling he knew why Henry Bowers had fallen so far and so fast – but that didn’t have any bearing on the situation at hand, where he and Eddie were hemmed in by Vic Criss and Belch Huggins, and Henry had Ben dangling from the straps of his backpack, tips of his toes barely touching the floor.

Bill moved in front of Eddie, who was clutching his hand tightly, and focused on Bowers. “L-Let him g-go.”

Henry sneered. “Let who go? This fatass?” he gave Ben a shack as if to emphasise his words, and Bill felt his teeth clench at the sight as Criss and Huggins burst into sniggers.

“You know,” Henry continued, grinning meanly, “I knew you lot were a bunch of losers, but I didn’t think you’d fall so far as to adopt Tits here for your little group.”

Bill’s hands clenched into fists as he breathed deeply. “We haven’t fallen – Ben is my friend, and I’m proud he is, just as I’m proud of all my friends.” He bit out through gritted teeth, not even noticing that his stutter was gone.

Behind him, Eddie did, and looked at where Bill was standing in front of him. That straight, strong back…for some reason, looking at it, and feeling Bill’s warm hand still clasping his, made Eddie feel braver. He felt like he could even take on Henry Bowers.

Ben, dangling from the arms of his bag, looked at Bill was wide eyes filling with tears. No one had ever, in his entire life, said they were proud to be his friend. At that moment, Bill could have asked Ben to die for him, and he would have agreed gladly.

Henry sneered at Bill, eyes dark, and dropped Ben, shoving him towards Belch as he stepped forward to loom over Bill. “You need better standards then, B-B-B-Billy.”

Bill met him head on. “I’m s-surprised you even know what that word means.” 

Around them, the other students milled, watching breathlessly. Seeing Henry Bowers and his gang pick on some poor soul was not a surprising event – seeing that person stand up to him? That was.

Henry could feel, in some deep lizard hind part of his brain, that he was losing his grip on the school. If the students saw that Henry was not some terrifying force they couldn’t hope to stop from hitting them and ruining their lunches and occasionally stealing their money, then...then something. Something would happen, or stop happening or – well, Henry didn’t know. He wasn’t the type to think things through or deeply ruminate on the future. But he didn’t like it. That same hind part of his brain was screaming at him that he had to reassert his place in the school hierarchy as top dog, as the one you don’t want to mess with, so he stepped closer, crowding in on little Bill Denbrough, who had seemingly grown a spine in the time he’d been away sick from school, and prepared to beat it out of him again. Make him an example. An object lesson, like the ones his dad gave Henry.

“Listen here you little –” Henry started, hand already raising to grip Bill by the collar, when there was a sudden crack and a sharp pain in his nose, and Henry found himself reeling back, one hand clutching his face as blood poured out between the gaps of his fingers.

What?

For a moment, everyone froze, a silent tableau, as Bill blinked back at Henry, equally as dumbfounded by his actions – but the sharp pain in his knuckles let him know it wasn’t a dream, and the gathered student simultaneously gasped in shock.

Bill Denbrough had just punched Henry Bowers in the face.

The moment stretched out, frozen - then, like a rubber band, it snapped, as Henry let out a roar and clenched his bloody hand into a fist, stepping forward to beat the shit out of the little pipsqueak that had hurt him. As if reacting to a signal, Belch Huggins and Vic Criss also reacted, moving to back up their enraged friend – only for Ben Hanscom to shrug off his backpack and charge forward with a roar, running straight into Vic’s middle in a magnificent tackle.

The hallway descended into chaos, and Bill was left staring with wide eyes. Ben had knocked Criss down, and Belch had picked him up by the back of his shirt, only for Eddie to abandon his place behind Bill to go and pound at Belch’s back, backing Ben up.

Henry, meanwhile, had been piled on by Richie, Bev, and Stan, who had at some point realised that they had been left alone in the classroom and hurried out to see the hallway in chaos and a bloody Henry heading for a stunned Bill, and had immediately, without even talking about it, jumped him to protect their friend.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?”

As the voice echoed through the hall, the fighters stopped, freezing in the guilty manner of children who had been caught out in a wrongdoing. Mrs. Douglas marched forward, lips pressed together so hard they were practically invisible, stunned grey eyes behind wire framed glasses darting from person to person, from a bloody Bowers still surrounded by Bev, Richie and Stan, to Victor Criss slowly leveraging himself back up on his feet, to where Belch was frozen in an awkward position with Eddie on his back and Ben dangling from his fist, to a frozen Bill watching the whole thing with wide eyes.

Mrs. Douglas took a deep breath, nostrils flaring wide. “Principal’s office – all of you. Now!”

No one, not even the Bowers gang, argued.


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting in the hard metal and plastic chair outside the heavy wooden door set with the warped glass window that had ‘Principal’s Office’ printed on it in dark embossed writing, Bill rubbed his knuckles, and calmly patted Eddie’s back. Eddie, who had been so brave when fighting the Bowers gang, was having an asthma attack at the thought of his mother being called to the school because he’d been fighting.

Ben peered around from the other side of Bill and watched as Eddie sucked a deep breath from his inhaler. “It can’t be that bad, right?” he asked. “I mean, they attacked us – she can’t, like, ground you or something for defending yourself, can she?”

Eddie shook his head, hand still tightly clutching his inhaler. “I’m more worried about her sending me to the emergency room. If she knows I got into a fight, I won’t be seeing the outside of the hospital all weekend!”

Ben blinked at that, and Richie, who was sitting sprawled across his chair across the small corridor from them, laughed and explained. “Eddie’s mom is worried he’ll break, and she’ll have to pay to replace him!”

“Shut up Richie,” said Stan, who was sitting, back very straight and hands primly folded in his lap, to Richie’s side, opposite Eddie.

“You think that’s bad?” asked Bev, also sitting next to Richie, across from Ben. “My dad works as the Janitor here – even if they don’t call in our parents, he’s still going to know.” She looked vaguely sick at the prospect and had hunched down in on herself. Bill didn’t like Bev’s dad.

“J-just tell him they t-t-tried to come on t-to you.” He suggested. “and you were f-fighting them off.”

Bev thought about that and frowned pensively. “That might work.”

There was a sound from just down the hall, and as one the six friends turned to peer at where Henry, Vic and Belch were leaning against the walls. They were, of course, too cool to come sit in the small hard chairs lined up outside the principal’s office and wouldn’t have come so close to the kids who were responsible for them being there anyway. Henry noticed them looking, and shot a poisonous glare at them – or, rather, at _him,_ Bill noticed. At least he wasn’t paying any attention to Ben any more.

Satisfied that the bullies weren’t going to suddenly come after them, Bill’s friends turned away from them and back to their discussion.

“B-B-Bowers is the one who s-spread those r-r-rumours about you, isn’t he?” Bill asked quietly. “Maybe if you b-b-bring that up…”

Bev looked at Bill with wide eyes, before smiling shyly at him. “You don’t believe them? The rumours.”

Bill frowned. “Of course not.” Even before she’d confirmed to him that they weren’t true, he hadn’t believed them. All the others immediately started nodding and murmuring about how they hadn’t believed it either, though he knew at least some of them had. Still, it was good to see them all supporting Bev, and she was blushing slightly and looking so happy that he didn’t say anything.

Bill nodded to himself and made a decision. “D-don’t worry about your p-parents. If the teachers ask, I’m the one who s-s-started it. I punched B-Bowers. Everyone s-saw, so…”

The heavy wooden door of the principal’s office swung open before they could protest, and they all turned to look at the small, old, balding figure that was peering at them with watery grey eyes over small oval spectacles. The principal, a man named Clive Owens, was not someone Bill had ever seen before, and he couldn’t help but study him for a moment. Those watery grey eyes skimmed over the six smaller figures of the losers, and up to the looming figures of the Bowers gang, before letting out a long sigh. “Mr Bowers – again?” Henry hunched his shoulders and said nothing.

Bill straightened up as those eyes trailed back to the losers.

“You six, I don’t recall seeing before – what exactly happened?” Mr Owens asked. Bill jumped in before any of the others could say anything.

“I-It’s my f-f-fault. I p-punched Bowers in the f-f-face. My friends were only trying to p-protect me.”

There was a tense moment of silence as Mr Owens raised an eyebrow, before nodding. “This corroborates what I’ve heard so far.” He turned to the rest of the losers and continued. “As this is a first offense, I believe I’ll be able to let most of you go with only a stern warning - no need to tell your parents.” There was a sigh as Bill’s friends sagged down in relief. Richie grinned.

“You, however, Mr. Denbrough, as the instigator in this incident, will need to come into my office while I call your parents – you too Mr. Bowers.” Henry flinched, and Vic and Belch exchanged glances.

Bill got up, and his friends immediately got up to and surrounded him.

“It’s not right,” Ben fretted quietly. “It’s only because you were standing up for me…”

Bill smiled at him reassuringly. “I’ll exp-plain that to him. I’m s-sure he’s dealt with Bowers before, s-so…” that seemed to soothe most of their worries, and Bill pulled his bag onto his shoulder as he got up from his chair. As his friends were filing out, one wary eye on the Bowers gang, Richie stopped and turned to Bill. “If you can, call me after - if you can’t I’ll assume you’re grounded.”

Bill nodded, but Richie didn’t leave, instead staring at him with concerned dark eyes from behind thick glasses. “Hey, Bill…when you get out of jail – are you gonna tell us what happened when you were sick?”

Bill froze, wide eyed, staring in shock at Richie, who flushed slightly, but continued. “You know…whatever it was that made you change. You weren’t like this before.”

Bill swallowed dryly and felt his eyes sting. He looked down, hand holding one strap of his backpack tightly, and nodded quietly. “I w-would like to.”

Richie gave a small smile, and clapped Bill on the shoulder before heading off, and Bill turned and padded into the principal’s office.

 

Sitting in one of the two highbacked leather chairs that sat in front of the big wooden desk that the principal sat behind, Bill thought to himself, ignoring the hunched, vaguely sick looking figure of Henry Bowers in the chair behind him.

Bill wasn’t really that worried about being grounded, though he’d probably sneak one of his mom’s kitchen knives up to his room just in case. But telling his friends…

He’d been telling the truth, when he’d said he would like to tell them – tell them everything.

But he knew he couldn’t. How to tell them that he’d time travelled, that Georgie had died but not this time because he’d saved him, that there was an evil child eating shapeshifting clown haunting Derry, and they were all in danger but not if they stuck together? How to make them believe him? They wouldn’t, until they saw Pennywise himself. And even if they did…

Bill had time travelled. He was twelve now, but he remembered turning thirteen. He remembered things that had never happened now – would never happen now. Just the thought of trying to explain it to them made his tongue feel heavy, and the image of them not believing him, or believing but recoiling from him…

It made him shiver, and he didn’t even notice as time passed until the door opened again, and his parents and Officer Bowers walked in.

Bill’s father, Zach, was tall and hard and walked like he owned the room. His mother, Sharon, more closely resembled her son, from her height and slenderness to her long, elegant fingers and bright blue eyes. Those blue eyes were hurriedly scanning Bill’s form for any sign of injury as she rushed ahead of her husband to check on her son, running a hand through his hair as he did so. The sensation of having his mother there and active and so obviously concerned about him made Bill lean into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, only for the moment of peace to be disrupted by the low growl of Officer Bowers.

“What did the boy do now?”

From the chair beside him, Henry flinched and sank even lower, Bill distantly noticed as his parents settled into the two chairs on Bill’s other side. Officer Bowers didn’t take the other chair, on Henry’s side. Instead he stood behind his son and laid a hand heavily on his shoulder.

Mr Owens cleared his throat and Bill’s attention snapped back to him.

“Actually, Mr. Bowers –“

“Officer.”

Mr Owens only paused for a moment, but it was clear, even to Bill, that being interrupted had thrown him off somehow. Something intangible in the office had changed with that one word from Butch Bowers, though Bill couldn’t quite put his finger one what. Henry shrunk even more in his seat, and Bill’s dad watched with a deepening frown and hard eyes.

Mr Owens coughed nervously and adjusted his glasses before continuing. “Er, yes, Mr – that is, officer – that is, your son is not the one at fault here today. He is the victim, in this case.”

Officer Bowers raised an eyebrow and took a deeper look at his son’s bloody face, before turning his gaze on Bill, who blinked back at him.

He snorted.

“Are you telling me my son was beaten by this pipsqueak here?” His voice was sharp with scorn and Henry seemed to, if possible, get even paler. He probably would have shrunk down in his seat even more, but his fathers grip on his shoulder kept him up. Bill frowned at it. That grip looked awfully tight.

Zach cleared his throat, and Bill looked up to see him frowning down at him. A few months ago that frown would have had Bill shrinking down like Henry, cheeks flushing and heart hammering and trying not to cry from guilt. But that had been a few months ago – except it hadn’t, had it.

Bill was still twelve, and his father still looked him in the eyes when he spoke to him.

“Is this true Bill?” Zach asked, and Bill nodded silently, before speaking up.

“He w-was going after my f-friends, like he a-always does, and I j-just…”

Officer Bowers sneered. “A stuttering pipsqueak?”

“Y-you’re being r-rude.” Bill said softly, twisting in his seat to frown up at him. Looking at Officer Bowers made him itch. Henry snapped his head to look at Bill with wide eyes as his father snorted again.

“It’s not rude to tell the truth, boy. And besides, you haven’t got a scrape on you – you telling me he didn’t even get in a single hit back?”

Sharon gasped, and Zach frowned harder as Mr Owens tried to say something, but it was Bill who, still looking up at Officer Bowers, answered him. “It was six ag-gainst three, and they were w-winning. If the teacher hadn’t come, we’d have gotten the shit kicked out of us.”

“Bill!” his mother snapped, and he shot her an apologetic look before going back to Officer Bowers who was looking at him strangely, and Henry, who was just staring at him wide eyed.

“And j-just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean you have to be m-mean about it.” Bill frowned at Officer Bowers. “I’m st-tarting to see where Henry g-gets it.”

There was a moment of silence in the room, before Officer Bowers snorted, still looking at Bill oddly – though now, Bill could see what he’d missed before. The oddness was approval.

He approved of Bill speaking back to him?

Officer Bowers looked over at Bill’s dad. “I don’t know what your teaching your boy, but if I could I’d get you to teach it to my boy as well.”

Henry said nothing.

Mr Owens cleared his throat, and the meeting continued. Bill stayed quiet, watching. Mr Owens said that, since it was Bill’s first offense, his punishment would be up to his parents, and he wouldn’t be suspended from school or even given a detention.

They slowly filed out of the office, and Officer Bowers strode ahead to his car as Sharon and Zach turned to talk more to Mr Owens.

Bill wasn’t paying his parents any attention though. He was too busy watching Henry, who was rubbing the shoulder his dad had been gripping, grimacing. Bill couldn’t help but frown watching him, and almost without thinking it moved towards him.

With Henry’s dad up ahead and Bill’s parents behind them, the two of them seemed frozen in this moment, with the cold linoleum floor and bright electric lightbulbs shining from the ceiling. One was flickering, and the shuddering light made Henry look even paler, and the blood staining his face look deeper. Bill felt as oddly timeless as the moment did, watching him, then cleared his throat.

Henry shot him a glance. “What, B-b-billy.”

Bill didn’t say anything for a long moment, before licking his dry lips and asking tremulously “Are you okay?”

Bill blinked, almost as surprised by what he’d said as Henry was. He’d been meaning to say something else, but looking at the pale, bloodstained face – maybe it was just that he kept flashing back to the last time he’d seen Henry’s bloodstained face.

Henry snapped out of his shock and sneered at him. “You think you’re that good a punch?”

“That’s not w-what I meant,” Bill said, and looked at Henry’s shoulder.

Henry somehow paled even further and took a step closer, looming over Bill. “I don’t care what you think you saw, pipsqueak, but you say anything to anyone –”

“He shouldn’t hurt you.”

Henry recoiled as if slapped, and Bill took a step forward. “He’s your _father_ , he shouldn’t hurt you, not for any reason not for _anything –_ ” he stopped and took a deep, shaky breath. His heart was pounding and he felt flushed and jittery and like he could feel his blood running through his veins.

Henry stayed quiet, looking at Bill as if he’d never seen him before.

“He shouldn’t hurt you,” said Bill again. “Henry – if you need help, I’ll help you.”

For a moment, a long moment, there was silence in the corridor except for the buzzing of the broken light, and Bill thought Henry might actually listen – but then he sneered, eyes wild.

“I don’t need your fucking _help_ ,” Henry spat, and stormed after his father, leaving Bill behind alone in the hallway, staring after him as he disappeared into the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

Later, sitting around the dinner table, Bill listened as his parents told him the details of his punishment.

“You are grounded, young man,” his mom said, fork twirling up a mouthful of spaghetti. Bill nodded. “For tonight, no phone calls or tv, and you stay in your room unless you need to use the bathroom – and you ask me for permission before you do.”

“Tomorrow,” his mom continued, “you can call your friends, because I’m sure they’re anxious – but still no TV. You can leave the room, but no leaving the house. Sunday –”

“Sunday is Halloween,” his father interrupted her. Bill blinked in surprise, and then checked the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. Huh. So it was.

“Georgie’s been looking forward to it,” his dad continued, “and neither of us will be free to take him.” His mom hesitated. Georgie looked between them, eyes bright.

“I can still go trick or treating with Bill, right?” he asked in a wheedling voice. “I need to show my friends my new Batman costume!”

With a sudden sickening lurch, Bill remembered the Batman costume. Georgie had loved the new Batman movie – one of the few currently playing in the Aladdin theatre – and insisted on seeing it at least three times. When October had come around and the leaves had started to fall, Georgie had set about begging for a Batman costume, which their parents had bought for him to crows of surprised delight. Last time, Georgie had never gotten to wear it, and it had sat in his closet collecting dust with the rest of his clothes. Bill had stayed home that Halloween – the first time in living memory that he’d done that.

Bill felt lightheaded and found himself griping the smooth wooden edge of the kitchen table to steady himself.

“I don’t see why not,” said his dad. “And besides – if Bill is going to get in trouble for something, I’m glad that it was from finally standing up to that Bowers boy.” He nodded to himself, and both Bill and his mom turned to stare at him.

“He punched a boy in the face, Zach!” Said his mom.

“And how many times has he come home after being punched in the face by that same boy?”

His dad returned to his dinner, clearly telegraphing that the conversation was over. Bill gaped at him, and, humiliatingly, felt his eyes fill with tears. It wasn’t the fact that his father was standing up for him, was proud of him – it was the fact that he was participating at all, that he cared, that his mom did, that Georgie was in the seat next to him watching with wide eyes and a face splattered with bolognaise sauce and – it was all just too much.

Choking back a sob, Bill stood up with a screech of chair legs, and dashed to his room, ignoring his mom’s surprised cry after him.

“I’m n-not hungry!” he shouted, and headed straight for his room, where he locked the door and collapsed on his bed, great breathless cries breaking out that he muffled with his pillow, soaking it with his tears.

He didn’t know how long he cried, but slowly the tears stopped coming and he lay there, sniffing, tired and emptied out, feeling as though he’d dug into an old wound and pulled out the bits that had been festering. It hurt, but it was a clean hurt.

There was a tentative knock on the door, and Bill wiped his eyes. “Y-yes?”

“Billy?”

It was Georgie, and the reminder that his brother was there, was alive, was more then a faded image on a missing poster and a bloody raincoat and a wound on Bill’s heart, was enough to chase away any lingering sadness.

“C’mon i-in.”

Georgie opened the door a crack and peered in with one big brown eye. “Are you feeling better?” he asked softly, and Bill smiled and nodded and gestured him over to join him on the bed. Georgie scurried into Bill’s room, arms full of stuffed animals, and clambered up on the bed next to him as Bill blinked in amazement at the sight.

“W-what’s with the –” Bill gestured at the assorted toys as Georgie started placing them around him.

“They’re here to make you feel better,” he said, stuffing a floppy eared, faded white rabbit into Bill’s arm. Bill took it, still discombobulated. Georgie finished setting the stuffed animals on the bed and looked up at Bill, eyes still concerned. “They’ll watch over you, so you won’t be sad anymore.”

Bill smiled softly at Georgie and raised an arm, and Georgie promptly took advantage of the offered opening and burrowed into Bill’s side. Bill held him close.

For a moment the two brothers just lay there surrounded by stuffed animals and basked in each other’s company, before Georgie spoke again.

“I don’t like it when you’re sad Billy. And you’ve been sad a lot lately and I don’t know why.”

Bill turned his head and looked up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to take me out for Halloween if you don’t want to,” Georgie continued.

“I w-would like nothing better then to t-take you out on Halloween,” Bill said. Georgie shifted around and looked up at him.

“You mean it? Your friends won’t mind?”

Bill looked down at him, meeting Georgie’s big brown eyes and deliberately holding them. “I mean it,” he said. “My friends won’t mind – and if they do, that just means they don’t get to come with us.”

Georgie beamed at him and nuzzled closer, one arm going over Bill’s chest in an awkward hug. “I’m glad. I get to show you my costume! Do you wanna be Robin?”

Bill snorted. “No way, goober head. You’re the Robin.”

“No, I’m Batman!”

 

“You’re too tiny to be Batman! Who ever heard of such a teensy Batman?”

“I’m not!”

“Teensy tiny –”

“Billy!”

“Itty bitty –”

“Noooo!”

Georgie leaned up and tried to cover Bill’s mouth with his hands, but the two of them were both laughing too hard for it to do any good.

Bill was still fighting lingering giggles when Georgie suddenly brightened up.

“Wait here!” he said and hopped off the bed and was out the door before Bill could reply.

Bill blinked owlishly after him, but barely had time to question what Georgie was up to before said boy was back, tugging his big photo album with him.

Bill softened as he saw that album.

It had MY PHOTOGRAPHS, printed on the front in gold script, with the carefully printed words GEORGE ELMER DENBROUGH, AGE 6 below on a strip of scotch tape. Georgie had loved that album. Still loved it, because he was alive.

Georgie plopped the album on Bill’s bed with a huff, then promptly followed it and settled back into his spot next to Bill, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“W-what’s this for?”

“Your grounded right? You can’t leave the room.”

“Yeah, and?”

Georgie beamed up at him. “I can show you my pictures, and you won’t be leaving the room! This way you won’t be bored!”

Bill quirked a smile back down at him. He’d actually been planning on just doing some drawing then going to sleep, but Georgie clearly wanted to spend time with his older brother, and he’d loved that album, so Bill settled in as Georgie opened the bulky book to the first page, and lay there as Georgie pointed out each picture, and where he’d gotten it from, and simply basked in the sound of his little brothers voice.

Bill had, in fact, almost fallen into a light doze when he heard Georgie make a surprised sound and his eyes snapped open. Georgie was gaping at the photo album on his lap – or, more accurately, gaping at the flickering pages of the photo album, that were moving by themselves as if caught in a windstorm though the inside of Bill’s room was quiet and still, and the window was shut.

Bill felt a surge of hot fury flow through him as he sat up and drew Georgie closer to his side and reached out to shut the album, only for it to refuse to move, as though the covers were stuck to Georgie’s legs.

Georgie, meanwhile, was enchanted, leaning forward with eager eyes as the pages stopped flapping and settled on a black and white photo of downtown Derry, Main Street and Canal Street, from about the 30’s, judging by the clothes and cars. Breathless, if for very different reasons, both boys leaned in closer, studying the picture, with its old timey clothes and cars and trucks and lights, big streetlights with large clusters of white globes on top, like bizarre grapes.

For a moment they were both quiet, eyes scanning the picture for anything odd or different or out of place – and it was Georgie who exclaimed “Look!” and pointed at one small corner of the picture. Caught under the shiny surface of this old black-and-white photograph two small boys were walking along Main Street toward the point where Main and Center intersected, the point where the Canal went underground for a mile and a half or so. The boys showed up clearly against the low concrete wall that made up the edge of the canal, just behind the figure of a man holding the brim of his fedora, his topcoat frozen forever as it flapped out behind him in a sudden gust of wind.

Like the rest of the people in the photo, they were dressed like they were from the 30’s, with one wearing knickers, and the other wearing something that looked almost like a sailor suit with a tweed cap perched on his head. They were turned in three-quarter profile toward the camera, looking at something on the far side of the street – just the perfect angle for anyone looking at the photograph to get a good look at their faces, and there was no mistaking it.

The boy in the knickers was Georgie. And the boy in the sailor suit and the tweed cap was Bill.

Georgie turned and looked at Bill, gaze full of astonished delight. “Look, it’s us! Bill, we’re in the photo!”

Bill, lips pressed tightly together and eyes so wide there was a ring of white around each of his iris’s, reached forward and tried to close the book again, to the same result as last time. His hands were shaky and his pulse was echoing in his ears and he kept reliving that moment in the garage, with the slideshow, the click of each slide going faster and faster, the photo’s changing, become something else, something _other_ , his mother transforming into IT – and how it had popped out of the screen shortly after, even when they’d disconnected the projector.

It had shown itself as a giant, with teeth as long as Bill’s face, and if it popped out of this book here, now – Georgie was with him, could he protect Georgie, get him away, keep him safe?

He’d die if he had to, of course he would, but _would it be enough_?

And if the demonic clown did show up right here in his bedroom and ate them both, would his parents even notice, or would they be deaf to their sons screams?

 

 

“Sh-sh-shut it, G-G-Georgie – help me sh-sh-shut it!”

“Why?” Georgie asked, still enchanted by the sight of him and his brother in old fashioned clothes. “We look kind of silly,” he continued, carefully considering the clothes the picture Denbrough brothers were wearing. “Well, I look silly – you look nice.”

Bill didn’t care what his doppelganger was wearing and would have said that except something even stranger began to happen.

The picture began to _move._

After a good fifty years or so the skirt of the man’s topcoat finally finished its flap. He settled his hat more firmly on his head and walked on. The cars, the old-fashioned cars that Bill couldn’t name the makes of but that Eddie could probably have rattled off without thinking, started forward. One car, in the middle of the intersection, passed through it, a haze of exhaust puffing out of its tailpipe. It went on toward Up-Mile Hill as a small off-white hand shot out of the driver’s side window and signalled a left turn. It swung onto Court Street and passed beyond the photo’s border out of sight. The other cars, as well, all started moving, finding their own separate ways through the intersection, as though it were just any other day in Derry – any other day fifty years in the past, before even Bill and Georgie’s parents had been born.

The photo brothers finished their turn and pointed at whatever they had been looking at – a dog, Bill saw, as it came into view, a mangy stray with a half-starved look about it. Photo Bill laughed and bent down to pet it while photo Georgie peered out from behind him, tentatively reaching out at photo Bill’s encouragement and allowing the seemingly docile animal to sniff his hand.

Bill watched, strung tense as a wire, waiting for the dog open up its maw and bite into that happily offered arm, or the clown to pop up over the edge of the canal and grab the photo boys and drag them screaming into the darkness, but none of that happened.

What did happen was much worse.

Georgie, still enchanted, reached into the picture.

Frozen in wide-eyed horror, Bill saw the tips of Georgie’s fingers go through the surface of the photograph and into that black and white other world. He saw the fingertips go from the warm pink of living flesh to the same off-white colour as the skin of the people in the photo, at the same time as they became small and disconnected, stretching unnaturally, as if Georgie had put his hand into a bowl of water instead of a magically moving picture.

“No!” Bill cried and grabbed Georgie’s arm and yanked it away. He was almost too late.

A series of diagonal cuts slashed across Georgie’s fingers at the point where they ceased being his fingers and became photo-fingers; it was as if he had stuck his hand into the blades of a fan instead of into a picture.

Georgie looked at the deep, raw cuts crossing his fingers, and immediately started to sob. Bill, panicked, gathered him in his arms and headed for the bathroom, where cold water and band aids and that thing you sprayed on cuts awaited in the medical cabinet. Georgie clung to him with his uninjured hand and howled.

“Bill? What’s going on?” Called his mother from downstairs, voice sharp. Bill could see her silhouette against the wall, one hand braced on the banister, ready to come up.

Part of him wanted her to come up, to cluck over Georgie’s injury and kiss it better and wrap it up with sure fingers and chase the pain away with medicinal chocolate. The rest of him knew that there was no explaining Georgie’s strange injury – the cuts were thin, but deep and bloody. Just looking at them made Bill feel sick.

Georgie answered before he could say anything. “My photo album was mean! It hurt my fingers!”

“I’m t-taking him to the bathroom to g-g-get fixed up.” Bill called down after him.

His mother’s shadow softened and let go of the banister. Her voice when she called up again didn’t have that sharp note of panic, and instead was warm and almost amused.

“What a mean photo album, hurting Georgie’s fingers. You’ll take good care of your brother won’t you Bill?”

Bill nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, and knew she didn’t realise the extent of what had almost happened. She probably thought Georgie just had a papercut or something.

Last year, Georgie had been learning how to ride a bike with Bill and his dad and had fallen off and skinned his knee. He’d looked at the shredded skin and the little dots of blood on his knee, and immediately gone into hysterics, only calmed down by Bill hugging him and shushing him and kissing the pain away before carrying him into the house to be seen to by their mom. She probably thought it was something like that and had no idea how close they’d come to losing Georgie.

Again.

Bill clutched his precious bundle tighter to himself as his heart rate slowly started to calm and headed to the bathroom to see to his little brother’s hand, all the while thankful that more hadn’t been injured – that Georgie still had his hand, had his arm, was here and warm and alive and getting snot on the collar of Bill’s shirt.


End file.
